


Some Heads are Gonna Roll

by fleurlb



Category: Criminal Minds, Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-06
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:09:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4611351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and need a little help from an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Heads are Gonna Roll

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hiddencait](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiddencait/gifts).



_Centralia, Illinois_  
“Can I get you boys anything else?” asked the elderly waitress with a smile that bordered on the lewd. 

Dean flashed back his own grin and patted his belly. “No thanks, Doris. I couldn't eat another crumb if I tried. That was the best cobbler I've ever had.”

Doris flushed, pleased, and topped off their coffee before toddering back to the counter.

“I'm telling you, Sammy, if we stay in this town another day, I'm going to have to buy new pants. Eating pants, with an elastic waistband.”

Sam set down the newspaper in front of Dean. His face was grim. “Well, Dean, then I guess my bad news is actually good news.”

He pointed to an article below the fold, next to the picture of a grinning man holding up a prize-winning walleye. “Father of three fails to return home from work, community concerned” screamed the headline. Dean scanned the article, trying to make the connections that had knit his brother's brow into one hell of a worry mask. Then he spotted it and read outloud.

“Guy is from Columbus, Ohio. Police found his car abandoned at the base of a walking trail in southern Ohio, but a finger-tip search of the area has failed to find any leads.”

“A responsible citizen who lives in a city, but the car is good distance away in a park or recreation area. Sounds like the last five, doesn't it?”

Dean reached into his wallet and pulled out enough cash to cover the check plus a hefty tip for dear old Doris. “Sure does. And we know they don't print everything in the paper. At least it's only six hours away. Four, if I drive. We'll be there before nightfall.”

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- 

_Quantico, Virginia_  
If the map behind Hotchner, dotted with at least seven red pushpins over a three-state area hadn't convinved JJ that this was going to be a bastard case, the gristly crime scene photos on the conference table sealed the deal for her.

“So what are we looking at, exactly?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

“The case that we've been called into consult on is in Logan, Ohio. John Hamilton is an insurance claims adjuster from Columbus, Ohio, father of three children, and a reliable husband. Three days ago, his car was discovered in at the base of a walking trail in Hocking Hills State Park, but the man appears to have vanished without a trace.”

“This isn't the usual case that we're called in for. And if he's vanished, what's with all the crime scene photos. Do we suspect this is part of some serial crime?” asked Reid.

“Yes, Reid, that's exactly what we suspect. We have seven cases that have identical profiles. In each case, a responsible family person in their mid-30s who lives in a city has disappeared. The car is found miles away, and the body is found about a week later, in several pieces, typically in a abandoned building with signs of ritual murder.”

“Any other commonalities?” asked Derrick.

“Burns on the car seats, in the shape of a pentagram.”

JJ involuntarily shuddered. This case was going to be tricky, weird one. She could feel it in her bones. 

 

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//---  
_Logan, Ohio_

Eliot looked around the quiet downtown and stifled a shudder. He didn't like the feel of the place. The team were pulling a rip job on a crooked antiques dealer. Rip jobs were the worst, as far as Eliot was concerned. Way too much sitting around and waiting for trouble. Logan had a weird edge to it, and Eliot felt like he could almost smell something bad waiting to happen.

Eliot pulled open the door of the Shamrock Cafe and walked in to find Hardison and Parker whispering to each other. He sat down with a heavy sigh.

“Nothing good ever comes from you two whispering.”

“Parker thinks the dude over there is FBI.”

Eliot casually stole a look at the guy. Mid-40s. Dark hair and darker eyes. Grim expression. Off-the-rack generic grey suit.

“Of course he's FBI,” said Eliot.

“Thank you,” said Parker, raising her hand for a high-five that Eliot returned.

“He's a dude in a suit.”

“It's a very distinctive suit,” insisted Eliot.

Hardison shook his head. “You two are always seeing conspiracies and bad stuff around every corner. FBI travel in pairs.”

“My mama used to say that there ain't no such thing as just one mouse. You think he's here for us?” 

Parker stood up and walked with purpose over to the small table where the suspected agent was putting sugar and cream into his coffee.

Eliot looked at Hardison. “What's she going to do? Ask him?”

Hardison smiled and gestured with his head. Both men watched as Parker bumped into the man, spilling cream on him. All they could see were patting napkins and effusive apologies, but they knew that her hands were doing their magic. She returned seconds later with a triumphant grin.

“Giiiirl, I really hope you're not in possession of anything you shouldn't be,” warned Hardison.

Parker rolled her eyes, pulled out her smart phone, and tossed it to Hardison, who checked the camera roll and then smiled. “I guess I owe you two an apology. Special Agent Aaron Hotchner. What say we go back to the van and find out what this bad boy's been up to?”

 

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//---  
_Logan, Ohio_

In the small and crowded police station, the BAU team scrambled to put the finishing touches on their profile. They'd spent three days interviewing witnesses, researching occult rituals, and wading through countless frames of CCTV video. But JJ could feel that a break was coming.

“I want to review the main points of the profile, make sure we're not missing anything before we go public with it,” said Hotchner, rubbing at the stubble on his chin wearily.

“White male, early 20s. No more than a high school education but street smart and with a religious background or interest in the occult. He likely has an accomplice, and both men are physically strong but superficially charming. Every victim disappeared without a trace or a struggle. That suggests either social engineering or overwhelming overpowerment.”

“The distribution of the killings suggest that the men are transient, but they likely have access to their own vehicle,” added Reid. “They might be truck drivers or salesmen. Their profession has them on the road.”

Morgan came into the room. “I'm going to put Garcia on speaker phone. I think she's found something.”

“Hello, gang. I ran my homegrown beta face recognition software on many, many hours of video and we've got a match. I'm sending it to your screens now.”

JJ's phone buzzed and she opened the picture message. The photo was slightly blurred, but the face was clear enough that she felt sure she'd recognize the guy if she saw him again. He had a strong jaw, intense eyes, and stylishly gelled hair. 

“I saw this guy yesterday. He was driving a sweet Impala,” said Morgan. 

“You saw him in Logan?” asked Hotchner, and JJ could see his body tensing, like a coiled cobra that's ready to strike.

 

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//---  
_Logan, Ohio_

“They're not looking for us. They're BAU – Behavioral Analysis Unit. Unless one of y'all's been doing some freaking serial killer stuff that I don't know about, they are definitely not here for us,” said Hardison.

“Are you sure?” asked Parker. He knew that she wouldn't relax as long as the FBI were in town.

“I'm sure. I can show you who they are looking for, if that would make you feel better.” Hardison clicked his mouse and opened a grainy picture of a guy who looked like an underwear model on a bad day. “This is the dude they're looking for. And from the profile, they're also looking for an equally brawny associate.”

“I feel better,” said Parker, who sounded only 53% assured, but Hardison would take that.

“Well, I feel worse,” said Eliot, who sounded 150% worse. “I know that guy. I've worked with him before.”

Hardison whistled. “Dude is suspected of dismembering at least seven fine upstanding citizens. What kind of company do you run with when we're not around?”

Eliot gave Hardison a light and half-hearted shove. “It's complicated. And he definitely didn't do it. We need to find him. He drives an Impala.”

“I know that and so does the FBI. They just got a tip from a patrolman. The car's been spotted at the Inn Towner.”

“That's just around the corner,” said Parker.

“We've got to get there first. Trust me on this, Hardison,” said Eliot, hoping that he was able to convey the seriousness of the situation to the always joking hacker.

“I trust you,” muttered Hardison. “Just let me leave a little present here in the feds' database and then we can get over there.”

 

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//---  
_Logan, Ohio_

JJ watched as Hotchner led out a half-heartedly protesting unsub. Morgan followed with the other one, who seemed like a giant. A dark sedan with tinted windows careened around the corner, pulled into the lot, and screeched to a stop just feet away from knot of BAU agents and local cops that gathered in front of the seedy motel.

A tall, handsome black man and a smaller, well-built white man got out of the car. From their mirrored shades to their generic suits and shiny shoes, their appearance screamed feds, so JJ was unsurprised when they reached into the inner jacket pockets and pulled out badges. 

“Agent Hotchner,” said the tall one. “I'm so glad we got here in time. We're DEA. Agents Bob Latané and John Darley.”

Hotchner blinked and seemed caught off-guard. “Gentlemen, I'm not sure I understand what you're doing here.”

Morgan whispered to JJ. “Check out the ponytail on that one. Figures they're DEA. Those guys have no respect for dress code.”

She stifled a giggle while Agent Darley stiffened his shoulders and shot Morgan a dirty look. 

“These are not the unsubs you're looking for,” replied Agent Latané with a dazzling grin.

“Dammit, Latané,” muttered Agent Darley. “What my colleague means to say is that you seem to be in the process of arresting two of our undercover agents. Can we dismiss the locals and have a chat about this like grownups?” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Hotchner.

“Please, we'd like to maintain some semblance of operational security. Even though you've probably blown two years of deep undercover. You fibbie boys always go stomping in with your big fed feet? You ever bother to cross-reference the undercover database?” asked Agent Latané, pressing his advantage.

“Morgan,” began Hotchner, but Morgan held up his phone. “Already on it. Hello, honey child, we've got a quick favor. Can you cross-reference the database for...”

Agent Darley leaned forward. “The tall one is Agent Ken Downing and the other one is Agent Glenn Tipton.”

JJ heard the tinkle of Garcia's cheery voice singing back the names as she typed them into the computer at a blistering speed. She could picture Garcia at her workstation, surrounded by multi-colored swirls of troll dolls. 

“It all checks out,” echoed Morgan, a note of incredulity laced into his tone. He looked a question at Hotchner, who noded and began to remove the cuffs from his DEA agent.

“I'm sure you'll appreciate the sensitivity of this situation and understand why we need to beat a hasty retreat. Our colleague is removing the Impala...now,” said Agent Latané, pausing to wave in the general direction of the car as it sped away. 

“And we'll be taking these guys off your hands pronto for an emergency debrief and hopefully a new insertion in another deep cover case. We've got a live one down in New Mexico. Hopefully, your cover won't be blown clear down there,” said Agent Darley as he hustled the two undercover agents away. 

At the sedan, Agent Downing gave a shrug and a wave in their general direction before Agent Darley shoved him into the backseat. As the car sped away, Reid came out of the hotel room with a box of evidence.

“Um....where did our unsubs just go?” he asked, confused.

“They're weren't the unsubs we were looking for,” said Morgan in a robotic voice.

Reid looked at JJ for explanation, but she just shrugged. “You can read the incident report. Looks like we've got more work to do on this one.”

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//---  
_Logan, Ohio_

A few hours later, JJ finished typing the incident report and then handed it to Reid for proofreading. He wrinkled his brow, and her stomach sank. He always found a mistake, even when she was sure that she'd gotten everything right.

“The agents who came in the dark sedan, you're sure these were their names? Bob Latané and John Darley?”

“I might not have an eidetic memory, but I did look at their badges pretty closely. Why?”

Reid shook his head. “It's nothing.”

He went back to the report, but a few minutes later, his brow was still furrowed. “JJ?”

“Reid?”

“The other two agents. Garcia found them in the database? And their names were really Ken Downing and Glen Tipton?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, it's just an extraordinary coincidence that the agents in question would all have famous names. Bibb Latané and John Darley were psychologists who conducted experiements in the late 60s on the bystander effect. Bob is pretty close to Bibb, and Latané is an extremely unusual name. And the other two – Tipton and Downing were the guitarists for the band Judas Priest.”

“Hotch, it looks like we have a problem,” called JJ. “Get Garcia on the phone. If they really did pull a fast one, those guys could be anywhere by now.”

 

\---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//--- ---//---  
_Kingsport, North Carolina_

Parker parked the car next to the river and got out, pouting as she turned the keys over to Dean.

“Where'd you learn how to drive like that?” he asked, patting the Impala as though it was a child that he was consoling.

“Foster care,” said Parker with a shrug.

Eliot brought out a cooler and handed out long-necked beers to everyone but Hardison, who gratefully took an orange soda.

“Thanks, brother, we owe you one,” said Dean, clinking bottles with Eliot.

“No offense, man, but I pray that I never have to collect. If I need your skill set, I'm in massive trouble.”

Everyone laughed amiably, and Eliot breathed in the fresh air. He was happy to be out of Logan and not at all sorry that they'd blown the rip job. His sixth sense about the town was right, and he was happy to have hundreds of miles between them and it. 

/fin

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from the Judas Priest song of the same name.
> 
> Thank you for the opportunity to combine three of my favourite things. :)


End file.
